Tweiten is waiting for "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith," which opens May 19.

To the world, he is "the Star Wars guy," an obsessed Quixote whose windwills are a series of movies about a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

"I think 'Star Wars' is the quintessential modern myth," says Tweiten. "It's the hero story, the breaking away from home and family and proving yourself in the world."

Just who is this sidewalk Skywalker wearing sunglasses and a wool pea coat?

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Tweiten is a 27-year-old graphic artist who grew up on Bainbridge Island and attended the Art Institute of Seattle. Before moving to the street, he dwelled in a Belltown apartment. To make ends meet, he also makes ceramic raku masks, plays poker and picks up occasional odd jobs.

His life is not one big homage to "Star Wars," he says, and he has plenty of other interests, including classical music, modern dance, fine dining, dive bars, working out and reading about contemporary art.

But, what made him a bicoastal media darling was when he camped out at the Cinerama for "Star Wars: Episode I" and "Episode II" -- director George Lucas' prequels to the original series.

He's been called a loser, a geek, a Peter Pan who refuses to grow up and get a life. A few days ago, someone called him a "bum" for the first time.

"I don't really care how people label me," Tweiten says. "If they are so narrow-minded and can only see that one aspect of me, I kind of pity them."

Pity him not. He's a smart, articulate guy who is perfectly comfortable with this life decision. He sees it as a unique experience and a last opportunity -- "Revenge of the Sith" is the final film in Lucas' space saga.

"It's about freedom," he explains. "To me, it's exercising my right as an American to do what I want to do, without hurting anybody."

Picture, you might, Tweiten in Darth Vader or Wookiee costume. But, wrong you would be, for dress up he does not. Nor does he greet you by saying, "May the force be with you," or talk like Yoda or dole out daily Star Wars aphorisms.

He sees grand themes in the "Star Wars" films: the power of redemption, the rites of passage to manhood, the choice between good and evil. Probably the most elemental meaning he derives from the movies' various editions is Yoda's, "Do or do not. There is no try."

It fits in with his approach to life: "If you're going to do something, do it right. Don't half-ass it."

Though he saw his first "Star Wars" film at age 3, he has no memory of it. It was in middle school that he began watching the films over and over.

"As a younger kid, I was into the whole medieval knight thing and this was sort of the flashier version of that," says Tweiten, a high school football player who also ran track.

A pop-culture lover who sprinkles references to movies and books and music in his words, Tweiten sees this quest, which began on Jan. 1, as the road less traveled.

He sees worth in the waiting, especially in a culture that demands instant gratification.

"Coming out here and sitting and waiting -- embodying the anticipation -- I think people need to see that," Tweiten says. "Maybe they'll slow down. So many people are in such a hurry that they miss the savoring of time."

A whole community has developed around Tweiten's mission. His friends bring him changes of clothes, snacks and their company. Nearby businesses offer a bathroom, a shower or a warm cup of coffee. Passersby might laugh in amusement, shake their heads in wonder or strike up a conversation.

Earlier this week, a man from Real Change, a newspaper put out by homeless and formerly homeless people, tried to sell Tweiten a paper.

"So are you gonna make it, or what?" the man asked.

"I think I'm gonna make it," Tweiten replied, handing a dollar to the street seller, though he'd already bought that issue of the paper.

"Well, let me know if you need anything," the man said.

There are no sponsors or banners, but Tweiten says he has some money saved. Above his couch is a piece of paper taped to the wall. It reads, "Waiting for Star Wars."

Tweiten's living room is right next to a bus stop, and every afternoon, the buses spew loud decibels and clouds of fumes at him.

Still, he says, "It feels more like home than any apartment I've ever lived in."

To pass the time, he writes in a journal, posts to his blog, chats on the phone and touches up old stories from past "Star Wars" campouts, in hopes that, perhaps, a book deal will be extended one day.

"I think I'm working the hardest I've ever worked."

He knows, from past experience, that in a few months, he will begin receiving 600 to 700 e-mails, and do seven to 10 radio interviews a day. Already, the interview calls start at 3:30 a.m., and he has appeared on the "Jimmy Kimmel Live" show on ABC.

Some are inspired by him and most of his e-mail is supportive, but he does get some hateful mail, and a few people have driven by to yell at him during previous campouts.

Fortunately, a former job in telemarketing prepared him well for verbal abuse. "Wow, you hate me so much that you're wasting your time to tell me that I'm wasting my time. I find that mind-boggling," he says. "I'm out there enjoying myself, so, why should they care?"

Despite a selectively enforced city law that states, "No person shall sit or lie down upon a public sidewalk, or upon a blanket, chair, stool, or any other object placed upon a public sidewalk, during the hours between 7 a.m. and 9 p.m.," in zones including downtown, Tweiten has not been contacted by police or asked to move.

But, he acknowledges, the campout hasn't been easy and the first two weeks felt longer than he figured they would.

"I could have gone and sat on the beach, drinking mai tais for four and a half months," he says. "And some people would say that's a better choice.

"But I don't want to regret not doing this. If I end up not making it, and my will is broken, and I go home, at least I'll have tried."

14 days down. 125 to go. Tweiten is traveling his own road -- right here and right now, on a street corner, close, close at hand.